On The Job
On The Job
Sandi Wallace
On the Job
First published in Australia 2017 by Taut Press
Copyright © Sandi Wallace 2017
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The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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All rights reserved. Taut Press thanks you for buying an authorised edition of this book. Thank you for complying with copyright laws by not using any part of this book without our prior written permission, including reproducing, storing in a retrieval system, transmitting in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical or by photocopying, recording, scanning or distributing. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
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Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia
http://catalogue.nla.gov.au/
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Creator: Wallace, Sandi, author.
Title: On the Job / Sandi Wallace.
ISBN: 978-0-6481412-0-4 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-0-6481412-1-1 (mobi)
ISBN: 978-0-6481412-2-8 (epub)
Subjects: Short story collection (single author).
Mystery and detective / Police procedural.
International mystery and crime, Australian.
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Edited by Ruth Kennedy.
Cover design by Lana Pecherczyk of Author Zoo.
Cover images by Adobe Stock.
Internal design by Ebony McKenna.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
cover page
Also by Sandi Wallace
Preamble
1. The Job I
2. Busted
3. The Job II
4. Impact
5. The Job III
6. Hot Patrol
7. The Job IV
8. Losing Heidi
9. The Job V
10. Silk Versus Sierra
11. The Job VI
12. Who Killed Carly Telford?
Tell Me Why - Preview
Dead Again - Preview
Acknowledgments
Chapter 13
About the Author
Also by Sandi Wallace
Georgie Harvey and John Franklin novels
Tell Me Why
Dead Again
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Award-winning short stories
‘Busted’ (Scarlet Stiletto: The Eighth Cut – 2016)
‘Ball and Chain’ (Scarlet Stiletto: The Sixth Cut – 2014)
‘Silk Versus Sierra’ (Scarlet Stiletto: The Fifth Cut – 2013)
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Non-fiction
Writing the Dream (contributing author)
Dedication
To the authors who ignited my life-long love of mystery stories and my dream of being a crime writer
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And to the men and women in blue who are ordinary, yet also extraordinary, people
Preamble
My love of crime fiction began at a very early age, thanks to a steady diet of mystery and adventure stories, as did my dream of becoming a crime writer. But if the pull to be an author hadn’t been so strong, I fancy I would have been a police detective.
When I left school, I failed the Victoria Police height requirement, which was later abolished. After that, I came close to joining up a few times, but ultimately chose to fight and solve crime from behind my computer instead.
It was the right choice. But that doesn’t mean my interest in policing has diminished.
My happy place is being cocooned in my beautiful home up in the hills, surrounded by my pets and husband, and writing short and long fiction from my heart that I get to share with readers. What I love to write are character- and setting-rich stories that combine policing and crime fiction set in country Australia, most often my home state of Victoria.
This is my first short-fiction collection and each story features police characters. Some of these short stories are award-winners and have been previously published. Others are new and never-before-released tales, including ‘The Job’ parts I to VI.
‘The Job’ is a series of verse shadowing the careers of fresh-faced uniformed officers, seasoned detectives and old coppers on the brink of retirement, and each part links with what follows in the next short story.
I have had a ball putting together this book. Now, I hope you enjoy it, too.
The Job I
I do it for them…for you
because I can make a difference
keep the peace
make it safe
dig out the truth
put troublemakers away
I do it for me, too
because it could lead anywhere
uniform, plain clothes, the brass
on the beat, a squad, covert ops, training, leading
I put myself out there
first response
facing danger
might not make it home
because it’s more than just a job
Busted
Winner Scarlet Stiletto Awards 2016 Best Romantic Suspense Prize First published in ‘Scarlet Stiletto: The Eighth Cut – 2016’
4.00am was Nessa Reid’s favourite time to exercise. But since detecting a pattern in people’s response to her sharing this—cringing before they inched away from her, their expressions saying she must be insane because nobody in their right mind chooses exercise over bed, especially when it was dark—she decided to keep it to herself.
Admittedly, she had to force the habit for the first few months. After that, it grew on her to the point that now if anything prevented her donning the sneakers and hitting the pavement at that time, she morphed into Nessa-Crankypants-Reid. She got over it if she fitted in an alternative workout, although it never quite measured up. Pre-dawn was the only time she was guaranteed not to have to mediate, pacify, restrain or sympathise with anyone. For a fleeting while, all she had to listen to were her breaths, foot strikes and, if she felt inclined, music.
There was a bite to the air today and her breath spiralled in soft clouds as she jogged onto the oval and dropped into push-ups.
She chuckled, thinking gone was the girl who never asked Does my bum look big? in her navy work pants because the honest answer used to be No, it looks huge. These days, she knew her bum drew its share of admiration in her male-dominated workplace or when out with friends. Not that she was in the market for a man. She’d quit them prior to launching her fitness kick.
‘Whiff of winter this morning, isn’t there?’
Nessa nodded to the speaker, moving into an isometric lunge.
‘Bit harder to work out in winter, isn’t it?’
She hadn’t faced it yet but figured it’d be doable in a beanie and gloves. Nessa swapped legs, sank into a lunge and held it, saying, ‘A bit.’
She smiled reflexively, then cursed herself. If she encouraged the guy, he’d break her solitude every time. As it was, she suspected she’d need to change her routine to avoid him. By coincidence or not, he’d jogged up on three out of her last five sessions.
‘Great time of day though, isn’t it?’
The single floodlight washing over the oval shone on his face as it split into a beam. He scratched his chin. Maybe sweat made his beard itch.
‘Yeah, it’s great.’
Nessa did a set of squat kicks. The best part of this routine was next on the agenda. She needed to lose the guy.
‘Look, er –?’
‘Nessa.’
‘Short for Vanessa?’
Her nose scrunched. She wasn’t here for conversation and had always wondered what her otherwise-sane parents had thought naming her Lanessa. ‘Nope. Anyway, I’m up to my sprint starts. You don’t mind –?’ She gave an apologetic shrug.
‘Course not. Happy to join you!’
And bugger it, he did, while Nessa feigned a happy face.
A few hours later, she clocked on for her shift, still bothered by the interrupted workout. She pictured the guy—Jake—and wished she could run a check on him. She’d met plenty of dubious characters hiding behind beards and she wondered if Jake belonged to that club.
‘Nessa!’
She swivelled from her computer to face the senior sarge. ‘Yes, boss?’
‘Burg.’ Sally McCain handed her a note. ‘Take Dilly and check it out.’
Nessa’s skin tingled. There were burgs and burgs, but coming from Sarge Sally this might be a good one. She’d noticed that the boss intermittently jumped in over Mac, the desk sergeant, to toss her juicy jobs. She’d never complain about reverse-discrimination, and anyway, Mac himself had given her a wink after she’d closed a tricky case last week and said, ‘I can’t see you driving the van for too much longer, Reid.’
Was it time to put up her hand for detective training?
Nessa daydreamed about trading the uniform for plain clothes, as she weaved the divvy van through traffic on the highway and turned into a side street. A minute later, she nosed the blue-and-white into a cul-de-sac—if this outer ’burb could claim to have anything that posh—and parked in front of a rendered single-storey home. The property wasn’t far from where Nessa lived in a similar-styled house. There was nothing glamorous about the neighbourhood or her place but it was home and affordable, even after she’d kicked out Mr Wrong. And what wasn’t to love about a seven-minute commute to work?
As she and her younger offsider, Nick Dill, started for the front door, a short and stout woman in her sixties ran down the front yard, which was a dense vegie patch split by the driveway and concrete paths.
‘At last, you come.’
‘Mrs Luisa Occhipinti?’
‘Sì, of course.’
While Nessa introduced herself and Dilly, she picked up the aromas of garlic and onion, subtle but mouth-watering, that she guessed seeped into the woman’s fingers during early lunch preparations. Her stomach growled.
‘You hungry.’ Mrs Occhipinti smiled and beckoned. ‘Come. I have fresh biscotti.’
Nessa knew better than to blunder in and disturb the evidence but couldn’t stop another embarrassing growl from her gut. She ignored it. ‘Could you please give us a little background first, Mrs Occhipinti?’
The woman said, ‘No Mrs Occhipinti…Luisa. Sì, of course, yes.’
Nessa started with, ‘Can you tell me about the break-in last night?’
Luisa nodded.
After thirty seconds, Nessa realised she’d have to narrow her questions to get the conversation going. ‘How did the offender get in?’
‘The back door.’
‘Did they force the lock?’
The little Italian woman’s face turned into a tomato. ‘No, it wasn’t locked. I leave it open for my Renatie, cos he’s on night shift and that way I don’t have to worry about him waking up the whole-a-neighbourhood if he can’t find his keys.’
‘You were home when the break-in happened?’
Luisa bobbed her head.
Nessa hid her surprise. Home intrusions were rare this side of the city and usually motivated by drugs or personal vendettas, rather than opportunistic theft. She was also stunned by Luisa’s calmness – was that because she had nothing or everything to hide?
The older woman cupped her hands together against her cheek. ‘Asleep.’
She looked so darned cute that Nessa believed her. ‘You’ll keep your doors and windows locked from now on, right?’
‘Sì, of course.’
That, she didn’t believe. Luisa sounded just like Nessa’s mum when she agreed to something, then immediately did the opposite. She smiled wryly and asked, ‘What time did you discover the theft?’
‘Renatie come home about-a-five, like usual. He saw the mess the people make but maybe he’s too tired, cos he don’t think anything really wrong, just come to bed. I saw it when I got up this morning and called the polizia and that was a-long-a-time ago.’
Nessa tried to apologise, but Luisa flapped her hand. ‘S’okay. You people very busy.’
Grateful for a nicer-than-average customer, Nessa continued. ‘Any damage? Or vandalism?’
‘No.’
The lack of violence or damage pointed to simple theft after all. Nessa asked a few more questions, then she and Dilly followed Luisa to the kitchen.
Pots bubbled on the stove, and diced tomatoes and parsley filled a chopping board. Ordered domesticity, except for cupboards and drawers sitting ajar, their contents strewn.
Luisa drew Nessa’s eye and shrugged. ‘I leave it until you come and see.’
‘What was taken?’
‘The money from my purse – about-a-hundred dollar. Renatie’s old phone but it’s no good because it doesn’t have a whatsitsname –?’
‘SIM card?’ Dilly suggested.
‘Sì, yes. The people do this,’ Luisa waved her hands, ‘but don’t take-a-much.’
Little monetary value involved, along with no violence or damage, meant it was too minor to call in the Ds or a Crime Scene unit. Most other uniforms would’ve processed and forgotten the case but Nessa was intrigued. She ignored Dilly’s impatient watch checks while Luisa plied them with coffee and almond biscuits, and didn’t rush, knowing Sarge Sally had selected her for good reason.
Unfortunately, after leaving the address, other callouts and patrols took priority, right up until Nessa clocked off. She flipped into civilian mode, happy to be on day shift again tomorrow and able to do her 4.00am workout.
A movie and late dinner with girlfriends filled her evening. Despite going to bed not long before midnight, Nessa was already awake when her alarm bleeped, reflecting on the past eight months behind her closed eyelids. She’d chosen to ditch her useless boyfriend but had still been heartbroken, her self-esteem shattered, along with all hope of decent sleep. Eventually, she’d traded frustrated sighs in bed for a chain-smoking walk. The walk became a wheezy jog. Once that turned into a circuit program with running, she’d already shed five kilograms and almost succeeded in quitting the ciggies. She reckoned she had the habit beat after surviving New Year without a smoke and had chipped away at the next five kilos, relieved that her preferred regime coincided with the coolest part of the day over a relentless summer.
Nessa pulled on a tracksuit, covered her sandy-blonde corkscrews with a cap, grabbed keys and a water bottle, then jogged towards the park.
She’d only been there a few minutes when the bearded guy galloped up. Unsurprised, she sighed softly.
‘Morning, Nessa!’
She returned the greeting and began her routine, kind of annoyed and yet impressed with Jake’s confidence when he shadowed her.
Nessa grinned when she noticed he puffed more than she did during the star jump and push-up suicides. Then again, he was talking all the way through, not seeming to mind that she was less chatty.
‘So, what do you do?’
The inevitable tricky question. People reacted one of three ways when she told them she was a cop. They did a runner, mounted their high-horse or tried to crack onto her – suggesting things involving her handcuffs and pistol. Early on, she decided to massage the truth until she knew the person better.
‘Childcare.’ It wasn’t much of a stretch.
His pupils grew, turning his eyes almost black. ‘You like kids, then?’
‘Yeah.’ Nessa grinned. She adored kids, particularly her niece and two nephews. Their innocence diluted the crap she saw daily an
d gave meaning to it: to keep them safe. ‘And what do you do?’
‘Sparky. Mainly commercial electrical.’
Nessa smiled. She liked to spend her time after hours with friends who did normal jobs. Like electricians. She grimaced. Since when did she consider this Jake guy anything other than an interruption?
Later in the morning, with a stab of guilt, Nessa drifted back to that moment in the park. She shouldn’t have lied. She loved her job and real friends had to accept it as part of her. And honestly, this Jake could end up being a good mate if she gave him a fair go. He enjoyed pre-dawn workouts, liked kids, barracked for her footy team and his favourite food was Italian – four big ticks in her book, even if he talked too much during exercise.
Mac, the desk sarge, cut across her thoughts. ‘Nessa, can you do us a favour and switch to nights tomorrow? Patto’s done his knee and I don’t have anyone else.’
They were permanently under-resourced. ‘Sure.’ She lifted her palms with a shrug and a smile, pretending she wasn’t bummed. Days and afternoons were okay for her 4.00am workouts but the graveyard shift stuffed it up completely.
The remainder of her shift went routinely and Nessa went home to force her transition to nightshift.
She ate eggs on toast at what should’ve been dinner time, vacuumed instead of winding down in front of the TV, delayed going to bed by reading what would’ve been a good book if she weren’t so tired and ignored her body clock at 3.50am, promising herself to train that evening before work. She sighed, thinking it was one way to avoid Jake, and turned the page of her novel.